Come Away With Me. Sara MacDonald

I was stupid. I think I wanted to seem older and sophisticated. He was so different from the boys we knew. He didn’t treat me like an adolescent. He talked to me as if I were interesting, and he danced with me as if I were…’

      She looked at me. ‘I couldn’t leave him alone. I can’t describe how stunning he was. It felt so great that he was taking any notice of me because he was quite a bit older. I led him on. I virtually threw myself at him. I don’t suppose he realised I was only seventeen.’ She paused and said dreamily, ‘It’s so amazing, don’t you think, that one quick, wonderful fuck after too many glasses of wine produces a child you have for ever; a person who means more to you than life itself?’

       And a whole happy marriage can leave you with no child at all.

      But Ruth was not looking at me. She was gazing out of the window. She was talking to herself.

      My hands trembled. ‘What happened to the man?’ I asked. ‘Did he ever know?’

      ‘I’ve no idea what happened to him. He never knew I got pregnant. I refused to tell my parents anything about him; that’s why they were so furious. I didn’t see the point of ruining two lives. The boy was at university. He was just starting his career. A month later I don’t suppose he even remembered my name or face.’ Seeing the look on my face she said quickly, ‘It was not his fault, I wasn’t being noble. I knew I’d thrown myself at him. I engineered the whole seduction thing and young as I was I got what I deserved. That’s just how it was.’

      She got up and shook her head as if ridding herself of a familiar demon. ‘I have Adam. That’s all that matters.’

      She looked at me. ‘How do you feel about coming downstairs for an hour? Peter and Adam have gone to see a film.’

      I nodded and reached for my dressing gown. ‘You’re right to be proud of Adam, Ruth.’

       TEN

      Two weeks after I meet Tom at the party in the park I get a postcard in an airmail envelope. Someone has obviously posted it for him in London. It says,

       Hi, Jenny. Here, where there is not a tree to be seen, I think of you in a white and gold dress standing under an English chestnut tree. It is a lovely thought. Tom xx

      I carry the card around with me in my bag like a schoolgirl. I take it out at intervals to see if the words scrawled across a small space could have multiplied.

      There is silence for another four weeks, then Damien, Maisie’s brother, rings. ‘I have a message from my boss. He is flying home on leave next Friday and he will ring you when he gets back.’

      ‘I thought you were in Bosnia again, Damien.’

      He laughs. ‘Oh, I’m darting about all over the place, like the Scarlet Pimpernel.’ He hesitates.

      ‘What?’ I ask quickly. ‘Is Tom OK?’

      ‘Tom’s fine, Jenny. He wanted me to check that you hadn’t vaporised somehow, that you were still there.’

      I smile. ‘I’m still here.’

      ‘Good. He’ll ring you.’

      ‘You OK?’

      ‘Great to have some leave, drink beer and see a woman’s face…’

      I get the feeling he wants to say something. I do not want to be warned off Tom. ‘Were you going to tell me something?’

      ‘It’s just…you’re a sweetie, Jenny, and Tom’s a lovely officer, but he’s training with the roughie toughies, which means he’ll hardly be in England…’

      ‘What do you mean the roughie toughies?’ ‘I’ll let him tell you. Maybe keep it cool, Jen? I’d hate you to be hurt.’

      I am silent. I suspect Maisie’s protective hand. Damien was Tom’s sergeant. Was he doing the same work as Tom, whatever that was?

      I say lightly, ‘I’ve only met Tom once. How could it be but cool?’

      ‘Cool,’ he replies and we both laugh and say goodbye.

      Damien had said great to see a woman’s face? He must have been in the Middle East. Tom must be there too. Roughie toughie? I smile at the thought that Tom needed Damien to check he could still ring me.

       ELEVEN

      The next day I got dressed and went downstairs. Ruth had been coming home earlier since I’d been in the house and working in the evenings.

      In the afternoon I was in the kitchen with her when Adam came in, slamming the front door and calling out he was home. I felt a little thrill. I was getting to know his routine. I was getting to know him. I loved watching him move around in the clumsy way boys have. I loved his sweet boy smell. He seemed so strangely, intrinsically dear.

      Ruth had said to me, ‘Adam is comfortable with you, Jenny. You’re good with him. He can be very awkward with some people; he’s got to that age.’

      When Peter and Ruth were busy, Adam and I watched television together or listened to his music or played cards.

      ‘I wish you could stay longer,’ Ruth said now. ‘I know you’re better, but you still look frail. Unfortunately, Adam and I are going down to Cornwall; it’s his half-term and I promised him we’d go. It’s a bit of a disappointment for Adam that Peter can’t come. Something’s come up and he’s off to Israel again.’

      ‘I’m fine, Ruth, and I must get back to work. I’ve got a couple of appointments I didn’t keep. I can’t thank you enough for having me for so long.’

      ‘Couldn’t the appointments wait until another time? I wish you’d go straight home. I’d feel much happier putting you on the train for London before I leave. You don’t look well enough for work.’

      ‘There are a couple of people I need to see. A night in a hotel, then I’ll go home.’

      ‘Then why don’t you stay on here? You’re welcome to as long as you don’t find an empty house depressing.’

      ‘Really? It would be great as long as you really don’t mind,’ I said, feeling relieved.

      ‘Of course I don’t.’ She moved to hug me and involuntarily I stiffened.

      She looked hurt and I said quickly, ‘I’m sorry. I find it difficult to…in case I dissolve.’

      Ruth smiled. ‘It’s OK. I understand. I just can’t imagine what you’re going through. Forgive me if I’ve been insensitive, talking too much about myself and my child.’

      I drew away from her abruptly. My child. My child. I walked away and looked out of the window at the wintry garden, and the pain pulled and wrenched at my heart. I said brightly, steadying my voice, my back to Ruth, ‘Where are you staying in Cornwall?’

      Ruth was fitting bread into the toaster. ‘Do you remember my godmother? A rather eccentric old lady who painted?’

      ‘Down in St Minyon? In the thatched house by the creek? She used to take us fishing and give us wonderful teas.’

      ‘That’s Sarah. Well, she left me that little cottage. I rent it out most of the time. But we always try to go down once or twice a year. Adam is mad about birdwatching.’

      ‘Your parents always disapproved of her, didn’t they?’

      ‘Didn’t they just? She disapproved of them too. I could never understand how she came to be my godmother.’ Ruth stopped buttering toast and came over to me. ‘You know when we met on the train? I’d gone